A Soldier Born and Bred
by purple-drake
Summary: [COMPLETE] Bates had his reasons for disobeying Weir during the lockdown of the city, but what were they and can a scientist understand them? Tag for ‘Hot Zone’.


**A/N:** _This fic has been written for months, but since it plays on the Grodin/Bates friendship I've begun writing about, I wanted to wait until I'd posted a fic establishing that friendship. That particular story is told in 'A Problem Shared', found through my profile (which no one's reviewed. Is it that bad? (looks sad)). Although this is chronologically out of order for the rest of the as-yet-unwritten series, I figured that there's no harm in posting it._

_Tag for 'Hot Zone', just after the episode finishes. Bit of swearing, not so much, though.  
_

_Oh, and I should prolly get used to disclaimers. Own nuffin, don't ask, don't sue.

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He ate.

Slowly, methodically, his pace set not so much to enjoy the taste of the alien food, but so he could capture the faces, the expressions, of those few seated around him. Most looked perfectly normal, if a little strained; it had been a trying time.

He knew of a few people, though, who'd be avoiding the mess hall for a while.

It was a little shameful, actually. He'd been in the control room, where he'd never been infected by the nanites, but he had heard how the entire hall of personnel had practically gone crazy upon seeing the visions. Now, the scientists he could understand, but the soldiers should've been able to handle it a little better; one of them had all but attacked Teyla, for Christ's sake.

Not that Sergeant Bates would ever admit caring about the Athosian's wellbeing. It was more a matter of the fact that Lieutenant Crown shouldn't have let her fear drive her to that point. It put a bad image on the military contingent – one that Teyla was the last person he would've wanted to see.

But, his own people's actions aside, he knew that the tension in the spacious, circular room was partly for the _rumours._ The knowledge that Weir and Sheppard had disagreed – and not just disagreed but _argued,_ in front of the control room staff no less – had spread like a wildfire. He could see in some people's eyes the desire to know more, but his characteristic stern countenance had put paid to _that_ idea.

When Sergeant Bates sat by himself, you damn well let him sit by himself.

Most people, anyway. There were those few who possessed the courage – or perhaps the stupidity, the rank or the familiarity, he hadn't quite decided who had what – to sit with him when he acted as he was now: severe, close-lipped, leaning on the table with his back as straight as a poker and not seeming to give any attention to anything around him. His entire posture spoke, 'go away, leave me alone, don't talk to me unless we're about to be eaten by the Wraith'.

So when one of those few, Doctor Grodin, wandered past with a tray of food, Bates was unsurprised when the Englishman paused by his table and asked, softly, whether the seat opposite him was free.

Bates didn't say anything, didn't even look up, but pushed the white plastic chair out a little with his toe, making it screech on the smooth crimson floor. The Doc was going to sit down anyway, so there wasn't much point in resisting. He had a habit of doing that. He liked to know things.

Such as _why._

The silence dragged on, interminable, until finally the sergeant couldn't take it any more and snapped without shifting his gaze from the food before him, "Just say it, Doc."

"I wasn't going to say anything," was Grodin's unruffled, infuriating reply.

Bates' fork clattered onto the black plastic as he dropped it and shoved the tray back, folding his arms over each other on the white tabletop. His dark eyes pierced the scientist, hard and unflinching, with that tiny squint that always made him look mocking. It was an expression that had his inferiors running for cover, his superiors reaching for the insubordination forms and anyone else giving him a wide berth.

Grodin didn't even blink. He just chuckled once, recognising the glare for what it was: a call of his bluff. Then he took a deep breath, studying the tray momentarily for space to put his fork, taking the opportunity to put his thoughts in order. Bates didn't look away, even as the scientist leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and met his gaze squarely with those expressive eyes.

Right now they were… disappointed? Accusing?

Perhaps a little of both.

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" Bates' tone was snappish and short in a way that he only displayed with his friends or when he was tense. Right now he wasn't even sure which was the reason.

"Open the gym doors." Grodin's voice was deceptively soft, sounding longsuffering, as though he thought that Bates ought to know perfectly well what he was talking about – and he did. But beneath that was the slightest of steel edges, set within the calmness of the answer itself, something that only someone who knew the physicist well could pick up.

"The major gave me a direct order." Bates met steel with steel, his every word sharp and biting, unconsciously leaning forward in an attempt to get his point across.

"But Doctor Weir had the greater authority," Grodin countered, his gaze flickering away for an instant, his head bobbing as though to gesture to a woman rooms away.

Anyone watching them – and there were several, albeit discreetly – would have been struck instantly by their demeanours. One was rigid, controlled, forceful and decisive in word and action; the other relaxed, alert, free of movement and opinion.

Both were self-assured. Neither gave any ground, defending their views as hotly as any battle.

Just another typical meal between Doctor Grodin and Sergeant Bates.

"Major Sheppard is my superior officer."

"That doesn't mean it was the right decision," Grodin answered in something as close to a snap as he could get, his own back straightening under the force of his own words. The only other person who could induce that tone of voice from him was Rodney McKay.

Bates sighed through his nose and relaxed, his hostility waning, his swarthy features softening, his gaze falling at last to wander over the table. No one assumed that Grodin had won, the scientist least of all. Instead he settled back, waiting patiently for Bates to speak. When he did it was with the softer, less cutting tone that he used when he was explaining something that usually went unspoken, simply because it didn't need words to be understood. "Look. I'm a marine. We're trained to follow orders. Maybe you scientists can't understand that, but that's what we're here for."

"That's doesn't stop you from using initiative," Grodin pointed out. "God knows Major Sheppard does, as this situation well proves, and he's a soldier."

"He has the luxury of being the ranking military officer," Bates ground out through his teeth, his eyes rising to glare back at the Englishman. How dare he compare him to Major Sheppard! If not for the fact that Bates rarely spoke ill of his superiors… he did respect Sheppard, more than he had when they first left Earth, at least, but respect did not mean that he often agreed with him. Bates didn't; not at all. He had not obeyed because it was Sheppard who ordered it.

"But you're the chief of security. You're one of Doctor Weir's advisors. You even agreed the lockdown was the best course of action!" Grodin's head tilted questioningly, his brow furrowed, eyes piercing, demanding. "What changed?"

"Nothing." Bates wasn't even looking at him now, his tone decidedly harassed, and he knew it wasn't over. Anyone else and he would hold his peace until his dying day; he did not like being strongarmed, except strongarming was the only way to drag anything out of the reticent marine.

But this was Grodin. Grodin was a scientist. He didn't understand, and he wanted to.

Bates owed him that. "It was an _order._" He repeated, a note of pleading hidden in a tone harsh with frustration, as though hoping that if he said it enough the physicist would understand. This was a Bates that people rarely saw, as emotional as he ever got; his words clipped, his bearing shifting just enough that he forgot his ingrained control and allowed passion to reign, however briefly.

Grodin frowned, clearly still not getting it, but he said nothing; instead he nodded wordlessly for Bates to continue, explain, knowing that a boundary had been reached and more pushing would only make matters worse.

"Sheppard was disobeying his orders already, what kind of a message do you think it would have sent to the rest of the men if I'd done the same?" It would have said that it was okay for them to disobey orders too. It would have damaged whatever chain of command they had. Scientists didn't have superior officers, didn't have to be given orders; their entire livelihood was based on argument and supposition. They couldn't really appreciate the position. He had hoped, in some way, that Doctor Weir did. "We need a command structure here. If Sheppard can't abide by it than that just makes it even more necessary that I do." He leaned forward, earnest, brusque, believing in every word he said with everything he had. Because it was who he was.

Grodin was silent for a moment, letting Bates regain his composure, holding his stare with an oddly contrite one of his own. It was only when the marine began to lean back in his chair, all hostility gone as he realized that the scientist finally understood, that Grodin spoke. "I can't say I agree with your decision, Sergeant," he admitted softly. "But, as you said, I'm not a soldier." His head bobbed to the side yieldingly, conceding the battle. "It's just something I'll have to accept."

And, just like that, all the tension was gone. Bates dragged his tray back towards him, Grodin picked up his fork, and the two finished their meal. They didn't speak again.

They didn't need to.

- finis


End file.
